Is this something a normal person would do or am I crazy?

That was the question that plagued Helen as she drove through East LA, then through Irvine, and about every 3 miles down the I-5 until finally arriving in the Hillcrest neighbourhood of San Diego, an area she couldn't say she was completely unfamiliar with. She considered calling Robbie to assess the situation for her but ultimately decided against the idea, figuring he'd likely once again bask in the opportunity to call her crazy. She certainly didn't need a 26-year-old stoner calling her quest into doubt, not with all the shit she already had filling up her mind. She could hear his response already if she asked her question: "Ha, Mom! That should be the title of your autobiography!"

Jaime Rance had a nice little house on 3rd Avenue, lined with palms and carefully manicured shrubbery. A unity flag rustled quietly on the porch. Interesting. She glanced at the Bag of Shit on the seat next to her. It was such a nice roadtrip companion. Quiet, never had to stop to pee, didn't complain about her choice of music or tell her she was insane. Plastic bags full of other people's junk were quite underrated. The problem however was that it couldn't tell her if she should just go knock on the door or not. She couldn't think of any other options and driving all the way here seemed like a poorly thought out plan now. She wasn't even sure what she wanted from all of this. Did she want Carol back? Or did she want to make her cry some more? Both? Neither?

That fucking photograph on Carol's night stand had fucked everything up. It was burned into her retinas and every time she closed her eyes now, it was all she could see. Maybe she was going insane.

Instead of striding up to the house and banging down the door, she sat in her Lexus, tapping her phone between her hands. It was a difficult choice to make considering she had no idea what she wanted the outcome to be. Finally, she scrolled through her contacts to an ex that she hadn't spoken to in years. She pressed call.

The bar had a decent crowd for a Saturday night with a nice mix of patrons in their 30s and 40s. She was certain she'd been here before, been picked up here before. It was just the kind of unpretentious, low-key place Helen missed in LA. That's not to say they didn't exist, but she rarely had the opportunity to have a night out that didn't involve a director of cable programming or a chairman of some foundation at some swanky restaurant or event hall. The abundance of cosmetic surgery in LA was exchanged for an endless draft beer tap that served local brews. She could get behind that.

Ylva was across from her, sipping a glass of red wine and looking somewhat glassy-eyed and bored. They'd already managed to catch up on the last couple years—well, as much as either was willing to really divulge—and the conversation had lapsed already. There was a reason they'd broken up. Helen knew that look in Ylva's eyes. It was predatory and almost sexy. Almost. And this time it wasn't directed at her. Glancing around Helen followed the Swede's gaze to a group of women at the bar. One was wearing an atrocious faux leopard print blazer with red stilettos. The others weren't so bad. She wondered if maybe she and Ylva could do some sort of double pick-up thing. It might be nice to let off some steam with a one night stand. She hadn't remembered to pack her vibrator for this little roadtrip. In fact, she hadn't packed anything at all. It had been a spur of the moment decision as she left Carol's condo.

Helen pushed her near-empty glass of Chardonnay around the table. For some reason she'd believed that maybe she and Ylva would have more of a connection, the kinda thing that developed out of a shared history. She thought she might be able to pick her brain about the current situation with Carol. That obviously wasn't going to happen and she could have had the same company from Carol's Bag of Shit.

A group of rather attractive young men wandered through the doors, smiling and laughing with each other, swaying inside like they belonged there. Gay guys always made it look so effortless. Bringing up the rear was a familiar face from more than one photograph at Carol's place. Helen tried not to look dumbfounded at her luck. Maybe Jaime hadn't seen photos of her yet; she could gather intel. Ylva yawned loudly across from her, a sullen look on her face.

"Just go then," Helen groaned and waved her off. She didn't have the patience to deal with this woman's passive aggressive bitching. She made a note to delete the contact from her phone to prevent this from happening again. The Swede made a bee line for that group of women she had been eying up.

By the time Helen looked back at Jaime Rance and his boyfriend, they had been joined by two women. Even from behind, Helen knew exactly who the shorter of the two was, especially as she did that little hair flick. Well, there went that plan. She had to come up with something else pretty fucking quickly.

The other woman put her hand in the small of Carol's back and ushered her onto a stool at the bar. Carol pulled her brother down next to her before they all ordered a round. Pinot grigio, Helen mouthed as she watched Carol place her order. Just as she expected, a glass of white was placed in front of her ex-girlfriend.

Okay, this was getting a little weird. Helen debated her options. She could either sit here for the remainder of the night, creepily staring at Carol's every move like some sort of serial killer or she could confront the issue head on. And say what? "Hi, I practically broke into your condo, stalked your little brother, and then drove all the way down here to give you back this bag of trivial shit you left at my place, you stupid lying bitch. Oh yeah, by the way, I love you." Shit, where did that come from?

More importantly, she was trying to gauge the relationship Carol had with this other woman. She didn't look particularly happy, but she didn't seem too uncomfortable either. But it was always difficult to tell with Carol. She was such a good liar. The plastic smile that graced her at every business meeting was fully in place.

By Helen's count, it took almost 20 minutes for that other woman in her nice blue blouse with her nice brown hair to wander off towards the washrooms. She watched her hips sway in that irritatingly smug way some women do, like they know they're hot. Carefully draining the rest of her glass, Helen stood, a little more shakily than intended and squirmed out of the booth she had to herself. She knew how to play this game. By the time she approached Carol, Jaime had already caught on and was watching her like a hawk. She couldn't tell if he recognized her or not. Well, he would soon. She slid down on the stool next to her ex-girlfriend. Carol must have assumed it was just her lady friend returning because she didn't even bother to look up from her wine. Jaime shifted a little.

"That seat's taken, sorry," he said, as pleasantly as could be expected.

"It sure is," Helen agreed calmly and Carol's head shot up like someone had screeched obscenities in her ear. Helen figured she'd only seen her eyes that wide once before, and that was the rather unfortunate breakfast meeting-slash-secret-hike debacle. This time however, there was no screaming or yelling, just a blank look of… what was that? Fear? Really? Well, that was a little pathetic. She raised her hands in mock surrender. "Hey, just in the area and popped over for a chat." It wasn't a total lie. "No fireworks, I promise."

Carol didn't seem convinced. She was almost twitching. "Okay," she breathed out, her voice wobbling a little. Now that wasn't like L.A. Carol at all. L.A. Carol would have plastered on a ridiculously forced smile and said something like, "Wow, oh my god, okay! Now that is great to hear," and then giggle nervously at the end.

"Do you wanna…?" Helen gestured over to the still empty booth she had just vacated.

The blonde pressed her lips together, peeking at the booth and then back at Helen. "Um, no, I'm good here, I think." She glanced over at her brother. "Oh! Jaime, this is Helen." She said the name with some hesitation. "Helen, my brother Jaime."

"Helen," Jaime said, rolling the name on his tongue and scowling like he tasted something unpleasant. Clearly absurd over-politeness didn't run in the family. He extended his hand all the same.

She took it. "Charmed, I'm sure." He narrowed his eyes. This was not going well. And just at the prefect moment, Carol's little friend returned from the world's longest pee. Probably took a dump. She didn't waste a moment pushing in.

"Sorry, you're in my spot." God, even her voice was irritating. Helen cocked her head to the side with a tight smile and squinted. Carol groaned under her breath at the response. Maybe they did know each other a bit better than either thought.

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I was sitting there."

The older woman narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as if in deep contemplation of this claim. "And this is your spot?"

"Yeah, like I said. And that's my drink." She pointed to the martini on the bar.

"This exact spot?" She pretended to be surprised by the news.

Finally catching onto the fact Helen was playing a game, and not a nice one, she looked to Jaime and shrugged. "Yeah. I was—"

"Sitting here. Yeah, I got it. Funny thing is, I'm sitting here now, so that makes it my spot." She pretended to be deep in thought again. "That seems to be the requirement for claiming a bar stool, right?"

Obviously flustered, the tall brunette just blinked at her, trying to formulate a counter argument. "Look, I don't want any tro—"

"Let's just go," Carol broke in, grabbing Helen's upper arm tightly. Helen cocked an eyebrow at the blonde and got a warning look in reply. Well, at least they were sort of communicating now. Carol stood and pulled Helen off the stool with her and towards the booth. As Helen turned to follow, she glared at Carol's companion. "Remember, that's my spot now," she said, pointing to the seat. "I was sitting there," she ended with a dour smirk.

"Enough!" came the call from her right and there was another tug on her wrist.

When they made it to the booth, sitting on opposite sides, Carol leaned over the table. "Oh my god! Are you drunk?!" She didn't sound or look pleased in the least. She was actually closer to pissed off, a welcome reprieve from the usual flustered niceness. "What is wrong with you? And more importantly, what are you even doing here?"

"I have your bag of shit." She didn't think she was drunk but something about seeing Carol again had loosened her lips.

"My what?" Pure confusion.

Helen sighed as if explaining it all was a huge burden. "Your shit. All that crap you left at my house. I told you I didn't want it and yet you never picked it up."

There was a pause in the conversation and they both listened instead to the loud music blaring from speakers somewhere and the din of a hundred drunken patrons. Carol cocked her head to the side, obviously trying to work something out. "Seriously? Seriously!? Oh my god... Let me get this straight: You drove 3 hours, almost a month after dumping me, to deliver my things to me at a bar?" Her voice was still that high-pitched squeak that she used in unfamiliar situations.

"Not things. Junk." It was important clarification for Helen to make.

"Not to mention, I don't even want to know how you knew where to find me."

Helen glanced back at the bar where Jaime was diligently watching their exchange like a good brother. "Trust me, tonight was pure chance." At least that was the truth.

Carol's eyes narrowed. "You're crazy. No, like, seriously. Insane. I thought maybe it was just a—a, I don't know, phase or something but no. This is preeetty nutty."

The older woman shrugged nonchalantly.

"I obviously don't want that stuff back. And I didn't want to see you again. Don't you get it?"

Both eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me? You didn't want to see me? That's rich."

Carol shook her head, exasperated. "Oh, oh, you made me strip in a public park! And then—and then proceeded to humiliate me in front of all—oh, yes—all of my work colleagues and friends because of some crazy jealous bullshit you got into your head about Beverly of all people. Like hell I'd want to see you again!"

It was a bit refreshing to see this side of Carol—the part that should have come out weeks ago. The part that stood up for herself and didn't just go along with people who were trying to hurt her. It was kinda hot. Helen wanted to see more of it and less of the manically unhinged 'We're gonna crash!' version. Anger suited her and Helen couldn't help a small smile from fluttering across her lips.

Carol glared at her across the table. Well, this was fun.

"What?" she snapped, impatiently brushing her hair off of her forehead.

The older woman merely stared calmly at her, brown eyes sparkling. (She knew how infuriating that could be.) "Nothing. Please continue." Sarcasm was a wonderful tool at her disposal.

It was too easy to deflate Carol's bravado and she watched the other woman's expression shift from one of righteous anger, to hesitant indignation, to confusion. Dammit. "You know what? This is crazy. You're crazy." She slapped her palms flat on the sticky table where Ylva had spilled some of her wine earlier. A flash of disgust passed over Carol's face as she slowly pried her hands away. Neither said another word until huffed out a tired sigh.

"Well, I'll just go grab your bag of shit and be on my way." Maybe she was baiting Carol, just a little bit. She knew precisely how irritating it could be to have your anger be ignored or dismissed. She slid out of the booth and paused to look down at her ex-girlfriend. "Just wait here," she murmured just loud enough to be heard over the ambience and walked away. There it was. Reverse psychology. Wow, Helen, you are on your game tonight. She hid her smug smirk as she strode breezily towards the exit.

As she reached the sidewalk outside, there was the familiar sound of footsteps rushing up behind her. "Oh no! No, you don't get to pull this with me." Carol certainly sounded annoyed, and maybe a little hurt as well. "Goddammit, Helen!"

Helen kept walking in the direction of her car.

Not one to be deterred quite so easily, Carol kept up her quick pace behind her. That's how it always was, wasn't it? She in the lead, certain of her direction and destination, and Carol desperately trying to catch up, unsure where they were, and never quite making it. What an unfortunate parallel. Oh well, the Lexus wasn't far now. When she rounded the corner and saw the car, she skid to a stop suddenly, swinging around to face Carol who came up close to her.

"Look, I get it," she started slowly, trying to keep her voice even while studying the blonde's reaction. "You were scared by the intensity. But that's me. I'm an intense person. I do things intensely or not at all. That's not a secret." She sighed, finally letting the flippancy fall as she ran a tired hand through her hair. "But that's not an excuse to lie to me over and over and over, to play me like I'm one of your married boss boyfriends."

The look on Carol's face clearly signalled how unfair she thought that assessment was. And maybe it was a little bit but it was also the truth. "I didn't—"

"You did. Your job is lying for money, but I—we weren't supposed to be a job. You didn't have to lie to me. Or keep things from me until they exploded. Do you know how much it humiliated me? Of course I wanted to hurt you back. Yeah, my fault too for letting my paranoia get the better of me but lying about it instead of standing up for yourself didn't help anything." She felt like she could go on all night, standing around on a San Diego street corner chastising her ex, spilling out all her feelings finally. She sighed. It was a much sadder sound that she expected. "All I asked for was honesty. It may not have seemed like it but you could have talked to me about anything. Anything. We're supposed to be grown-ups in this thing together, but most of the time I felt like I was doing all the pulling and you were just digging your heels in for the sake of it, 'cause you didn't know any differently, 'cause you—you are used to assholes ignoring your feelings." She paused briefly. "Let me know if I'm getting anything wrong here."

Carol took a step back, a sure sign that something was hitting too close to home. "You were going way too fast. Waaaay too fast." She winced. "Like I told Beverly, it was everything I dreamed about but for some reason when I got it, it was too much. Just like, woah, Nelly, you know?"

"And that's the problem: You told Beverly everything and me nothing."

"You're too much! I couldn't—you—Ugh! How was I supposed to talk to you? You're dialled up to 11 on a good day. It's like dodging landmines talking to you. And then you flipped out and made me feel like shit when I did tell you things." She almost looked as if she was going to cry. "I told you I was scared."

"And I told you I never wanted to scare you."

"But you did! I needed to go slowly and you blamed Beverly being in love with me instead and went on some sort of rampage. How does that make any sense whatsoever? She wasn't the problem."

Helen nodded and stared down at the pavement for a moment. That photo on Carol's nightstand jumped into her memory again. She wasn't the only one at fault here. "Yeah, I know. It was us. We were the problem." Carol had no reply to that right away. For the first time in a month, Helen felt as if she could breathe easier. The truth had a way of doing that. She turned slowly and finished the walk to her car, beeping the remote and opening the passenger door. Carol's Bag of Shit sat on the seat, almost gloating at her now. The click clack of heels followed her down the quiet side street as she reached in for it.

The bag was clenched in her fists as the younger woman approached her again. "Remember when you told me you were scared? How I backed off?"

"After a tantrum," Carol reminded her.

"Okay, after a tantrum. If you just… If you had just told me your problems instead of running to Beverly constantly, maybe I wouldn't have got the wrong idea. Hmm?"

The exasperation was clear on Carol's face and she practically stomped her foot like a petulant child. "She's my best friend. I'm not gonna just not tell her things or stop hanging out with her 'cause you have weird issues about it."

This conversation appeared to be going nowhere fast. "Why couldn't you just say that then? Why did you have to lie and hide it from me like it was some sort of dirty secret? Forgive me for getting the wrong idea." Bitterness seeped through her words. Not only did Helen Basch not like to be made a fool, she also hated being wrong about anything.

"I was scared!"

Helen scoffed at the idea, her forehead creasing and her lips curling into a snarl. "Oh, whatever. Who isn't?!" She threw up her hands for emphasis and let out a long sigh. "You think I'm wasn't scared too? You think I spent the last two years watching you from afar, and then suddenly I have you and that's no big deal? You think I wasn't fucking terrified that would slip away and I did everything I could to guarantee—to show you how much I wanted it to last a long time?" These sorts of sappy sentiments rarely made it past her lips, let alone to another person's ears. "But no, you made it perfectly clear what you want. And, yeah, you bet I wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me, unprofessional or not."

"Wait, what?" That was the sound of genuine confusion as Carol attempted to process the barrage of confessions. "Two ye—"

Cutting her off abruptly, Helen shoved the bag into Carol's arms and slammed the car door closed, marching around to the driver's side. She glared over the roof of the Lexus. "I wish it wasn't true but you were special. It's not everyone I feel so immediately connected to." She shook her head. "But please don't let my love ruin your day. God forbid!" The anger was slowly rebuilding itself. "You say you wanted all that shit, but you don't. You don't know what you want 'cause you've spent your entire adult life being used by men who couldn't give a shit about you and I'm not going to stick around until you figure it out. I'm not a man." She yanked open the door and the hinges creaked loudly on the deserted side street.

Carol let out an aggravated groan and pulled on the passenger side door, pulling it so hard it almost bounced back shut. She threw the bag right back where it came from and her moisturizer fell out onto the floormat. "Wait, wait, you love me?"

The other woman rolled her eyes and growled out some sort of sound of indignation before sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut. Carol leaned in. There may have been a very slight look of bemusement on her face. That made the whole thing even worse. "You love me?"

A big sigh escaped as Helen stared at the roof of the car in defeat. "No, I just reacted this way because it's fun for me." Sarcasm dripped like poison from every word as they fell from her lips. She finally looked into Carol's eyes, making sure that she could impress on her the seriousness of it all. "For someone so smart, you're such a stupid woman."

Whatever sort of pleasure Carol had been deriving from the admission thankfully began to fade. "And I'm pretty stupid for trying to make you feel the same," Helen admitted. She nodded towards the bag. "Please, take it. And for fuck's sake, call Beverly. She's worried sick about you." Twisting the key in the ignition caused Carol to jump back. She pushed the door closed softly, her bag of shit in her other hand as she stood on the sidewalk.

And that had been that.